His gruff voice brings me out of the salacious memory. “I can see the wheels turning from over here. Come sit down and have breakfast with me.”
I pad over to the small round table near the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat as I peer out over the Las Vegas skyline.
“It’s prettier at night,” Griffin says as he pours me a cup of coffee. “Do you remember?”
Iscan the room as more pieces of the night before come back to me in waves. My robe is draped over a chair, a pair of heart-shaped glasses on the seat, and my shoes are strewn across the floor, as if I hastily kicked them off.
“So, we’re…”
“Married? Yes. Or so you said about a million times last night.”
I pause with a forkful of pancakes halfway to my mouth. Everything’s a bit fuzzy after the stripper show. My cheeks heat.
Oh god, the stripper show.
“Ah, so she does remember,” he says.
I swallow around a bite and cover my mouth with my hand. “You were just as drunk as I was.”
“Lucky for me, memory loss isn’t something I experience with my hangovers. I couldn’t forget last night even if I wanted to.”
“Do you want to?” I ask.
“Fuck no. Best night of my goddamn life, Angel.”
I know he’s teasing, but a distant, foolish part of me wishes he weren’t. It wouldn’t be the first time I fell for his empty words only to be disappointed.
He sets his mug on the table and stands. “I have to get going. My flight leaves soon.”
“Shouldn’t we talk about this?”
“Later. Can’t miss my flight.” He casually presses his lips to the top of my head, robbing me of the argument I had at the ready.
I can’t help but stare as he throws on a black hoodie and picks up his duffel bag near the door. “See you in Oak Ridge, wife.”
As the door snicks closed, I lean my elbows on the table and cover my face with my hands. “Shit. What have I done? What if Tyler finds out... Do I care?”
I pick up my phone and scroll through hundreds of images from my drunken night in Vegas. I look… happy. Happier than I have in a long time. Before I can think better of it, I select a photo of me hanging off Griffin’s back with my heart-shaped glasses on, holding out my ring finger with the Welcome to Las Vegas sign in the background, and I set it as my screen saver.
I swipe over to my social media account to make sure drunken Angie didn’t do something stupid like hard launch her marriage to the best man at her wedding, only to be sucker punched in the gut instead. Drunk Angie didn’t do anything, but sober Tyler did.
There’s a photo taken from an airplane window posted only minutes ago. I don’t even have to read the caption to know he’s on his way to Mexico for our honeymoon.
Without me.
Anger bubbles up, and a single tear falls against Griffin’s shirt. Much to my dismay, I’ve always been an angry crier. I hate it. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable, even though I’m pissed as hell.
I swipe away the angry tears and finish my breakfast. As soon as I found Tyler’s note, I booked my flight home the next day. I have a few hours before I have to be at the airport, but no part of me wants to wait around in the honeymoon suite, so I pack up my things—including the marriage certificate and my unused wedding gown—and head down to the lobby to wait for my Uber.
Part of me wants to hop a flight to Europe, to hell with Tyler, but I have to go home and see what kind of mess he’s left behind. I wouldn’t put it past him to toss my stuff out on the lawn, even though the house is legally mine.
Then there’s Griffin.
Fuck my life.
Maybe Ishouldflee the country.
Chapter 3
